beauty & the beast
by coffee-stained lips
Summary: In their own right, both of them are beastly. / Molly&Victoire. Oneshot. For Blue.


**I don't really ship this couple, nor do I think I'll write much femslash/cousincest (nothing against, just probably won't), but I accepted a challenge on the Next-Gen Fanatics forum in the "Write Me A Story!" thread for a VictoireMolly, so here it is :) For BlueEyes444, hope you enjoy what I've thrown together.**

They're both beautiful in their own right.

Victoire is shiny and new, all white-blonde locks and quirky smiles, with her eyes so electrifyingly light blue they could blind you in their radiance. And she's never reserved; she knows just how good she looks, so she wears tight-fitting dresses and lots of makeup to enhance herself more than she needs. The boys will flock to her, and they'll get googly-eyed – she may kiss them, do more than that, to please their poor tired souls, but in the end she can walk home into Teddy's arms and ruffle his ever-changing hair (white-blonde is her favorite, it's pretty like hers).

Molly is more subtle, but you can still tell: she's got a head of bouncy auburn curls, and soft hazel eyes that pronounce truth and acceptance in her face. Her smiles are quiet, but they're bright and they make many melt into goo at the sight of her. She lets people's imaginations do the work for them in her humble clothing, and watches them watching her, waiting and waiting for her to stop the act and do something _crazy_.

Together, they may be quite a beautiful mess.

.

But then, one of them has to be the beast.

Victoire could be both, easily – she's a bitch and a drama queen, and half of the gossip circulating around the seventh-years is her doing, whether she heard it elsewhere first or decided to make something up (to spice up the dull day, of course). People hate that they love her and love that they hate her, because she's easy for both. (She's a beauty and a sin.)

Molly may be the beast, but she can't be – she's already the one in her family. People may call her the pretty one, the gorgeous one, the stunning one, but in truth she's really just second-rate to her sister; Lucy, with so many streaks in her hair – blonde and black and brown and red and even blue – that no one can remember what she started with, and violet-blue eyes that fight your gaze with daggers, and awkward movements that really just add up to a unique elegance that's unlike any other beauty that's graced the Weasley family. She just doesn't want to be the pretty one, because to her, pretty means dumb and vulnerable and girly, and she's tough and rambunctious and boyish, and pretty would weigh her down. Molly accepts the title then, because what else is there for her to claim?

In their own right, both of them are beastly.

.

Molly wishes it could have worked out with Lysander, because he was only two years younger than her. But _Victoire_ is so much older and out of her league (and her cousin [and a girl]), and Molly can't help but feel exhausted trying to keep up with all of that, to try and be somebody good to her, maybe _better than her_, but it's a never-ending battle because she's the daughter of the son who _betrayed the family_ and some random Muggle woman, and Victoire is part-fricking-_Veela_, for Godric's sake, and everybody knows Uncle Bill's a guy nobody can hate. Molly may be named after her grandmother, but if it's her father who's doing the naming, people just think it's to suck up (_which it probably is_), and Victoire is _ohso_pretty and French.

She doesn't even know how she got into this mess, because Victoire and her have never been close (she and her siblings stray from the rest of the family with upturned noses) and there's always been Teddy reflected in her blueblue eyes (every cousin's had something of a crush on him, Victoire just got lucky and actually snagged his heart too). But somehow she's in it, and Victoire's perfect manicured hands are lacing with hers under the table, and Molly feels like such a dirty girl.

_Lucy would never do this_, she thinks to herself when she and Victoire get cleanup duty after Sunday supper at grandma and grandpa's house, and Victoire whispers things in her ear – sinful things, treacherous things – _Lucy wouldn't have secrets like this. She wouldn't do these things, and certainly not with her cousin_.

(But she's never been as good as Lucy, has she?)


End file.
